


The Day After the Date

by HarrogateBelmont



Series: The Ritz and Beyond [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Birthday Dinner, F/M, New Relationship, Robin Ellacott and Cormoran Strike's Champagne at the Ritz, Trying to get work done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrogateBelmont/pseuds/HarrogateBelmont
Summary: Robin has confirmed with Strike that their evening together was, indeed, a date. Now it's the next day. Will the romance last?
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: The Ritz and Beyond [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041804
Comments: 34
Kudos: 115





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a totally fluffy fic that I wrote, because I had an idea for the fourth (and last) chapter, but somehow felt the need to fill in the rest? The rating's probably too high, but I guess there's some innuendo.

Robin awoke the morning after her birthday feeling refreshed and alert, despite the fact that she had not slept much the night before. The memory of kissing Strike, first outside the Tube, and later, outside her front door, left a thrill from her head to her toes whenever she remembered it. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, and when she opened her eyes a little after dawn, she rose immediately out of bed, despite the early hour. 

They were expecting a new client before lunch, but otherwise, there was no surveillance on her agenda. She and Strike had planned to finalize some of the training and orientation for their new subcontractor, Michelle. The prospect of spending an entire day sequestered inside the tiny inner office with Strike made Robin’s heart buzz. But despite the declarations of the night before, a small part of her wondered if she would feel embarrassed and awkward, and how things would seem in the light of day, wearing her sensible work trousers and a blouse instead of her blue dress and new opal necklace. She sprayed her new perfume on her throat and wrists, and felt her confidence and assurance return.

Robin arrived at the office an hour earlier than usual. She wanted to be there before Pat, because she was carrying her outfit for the birthday dinner later that evening, as well as a carry-all bag with assorted toiletries. In truth, there was plenty of time for her to leave work, go home and change before the dinner party started, but she harbored a hope that Strike might be open to other plans. And in case he wasn’t, she had an excuse ready. She hung her dress on the coat rack in the inner office, stashed her bag in the corner behind her chair, and logged on to her computer, staring at the training manual she had begun to develop several weeks earlier, when she and Strike had agreed that it might be a good idea to ensure that all of the subcontractors started with the same basic understanding and knowledge of their business policies and practices. The document was open on her screen, but the letters blurred together as Robin’s mind wandered.

They had parted the night before, full of implied promises and declarations. Although she knew it was old-fashioned, she hadn’t been ready to invite Strike inside last night. She knew Max was home, and she did not want anyone else to witness their new relationship just yet. And she wanted a day, more than a few moments, to cherish the memories of those first kisses. The thrill of it all was like a drug, it energized her and made her feel like she was floating, and she wanted to hold onto that feeling just a while longer. A small part of her wanted to give them both time to think things over - one last chance at escape. So they had parted after several minutes of increasingly passionate kisses, and Robin hoped that her final “See you tomorrow” had conveyed everything she had meant to communicate.

Soon she heard noises in the flat above her head, and she grinned, wondering what Strike was doing, and how he’d slept, and she felt a jolt of happiness and panic at the thought he would be downstairs soon. It sounded as though he was hopping or using a crutch, and her face grew warm thinking about witnessing him in such a state of vulnerability. She listened - the sound of a toilet flushing, the rush of water running through the pipes, the uneven clunking noise across the flat upstairs. There was a moment of silence, and then her phone dinged. Looking down, she saw a message from Strike.

**Good morning Cx**

Robin smiled. He had texted her first thing, which definitely pleased her. 

**_It is._** _**R**_ ** _x_** she texted back.

**On your way in? Cx**

**_I’m downstairs :)_ **

Her phone rang. “What are you doing here so early?” Strike asked. There was an odd echo effect - she could hear the timbre of his voice from above, as she heard the words through the phone.

“Just woke up and didn’t see any point in hanging around at home,” Robin said. 

“Is everything okay?” Strike asked. There was a tentative note in his voice. Robin’s heart melted a little. “Absolutely,” she said. “Just in a good mood.”

Strike let out what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Well, early bird, did you eat anything yet?”

Robin said that she had not, and Strike suggested they go out for a quick bite before starting work for the day. He hung up to take a quick shower and get dressed - Robin immediately realized that he may not have been dressed when they spoke, and felt another thrill. 

Ten minutes later, Robin heard Strike’s footsteps on the stairs. She had a moment of confusion - should she greet him at the door? Act “normally”? Normally she would sit at her desk and say hello on those occasions when she arrived before he did. But they were going out to eat, so she might as well stand up. She heard Strike fumbling with his keys - she had locked the door since the office wasn’t officially open yet, and that gave Robin an excuse to stand up and meet him there. She unlocked and opened the door just as he was preparing to put his key in the lock, and then they both stood on the threshold, goofy smiles on each of their faces.

Robin laughed a little, unsure of what to do next. Strike looked… adorable. She had thought of him as many things, but  _ adorable _ was a new sensation. She felt a twinge of arousal and looked away for a moment. When she looked back at Strike, the fire in his eyes took her breath away. She slid an arm around his waist and pulled him close, and he immediately took a step closer, leaning forward to kiss her softly on the lips. A moment later, Strike was walking her backward into the office, still kissing her, his hands now roaming up and down her back, one hand eventually wrapping into her hair, the other traveling down below her waist. She felt the back of her knees hit the arm of the fake leather sofa, and almost lost her balance. Strike pulled away, still holding her tightly. They were both a little out of breath.

“Christ, Robin,” gasped Strike. “How are we ever going to get any work done?”

“Oh,” said Robin, trying to catch her breath. “I imagine that it will be easy with Pat as a chaperone.” 

He laughed. Robin took a deep breath. She thought, for a moment, of suggesting they climb the stairs to his flat immediately, but it was already almost half past eight, and she remembered how easily she’d been able to hear Strike moving around upstairs. So she said, instead, “We should probably try to get some breakfast.”

Strike nuzzled her neck for a moment, and inhaled deeply. “You’re wearing your new perfume,” he murmured. Robin’s knees weakened. But she was able to recover, and, slowly extricating herself from Strike’s embrace, she grabbed her handbag and ushered him out the door.


	2. Just Another Work Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out, Strike and Robin can actually do work while sitting together in their office all day. But what will happen when Pat goes home?

Much to both Strike’s and Robin’s surprise, it  _ was _ possible to get work done. Pat’s presence in the office did equalize the mood; the few times that Robin allowed her mind to wander, Pat would laugh or cough in the outer office and it would snap her back to reality. Their new client meeting was straightforward, and Robin made respectable progress on her manual. Pat asked for feedback on the sections she was completing regarding the administrative duties of the business, and by the time Robin returned those to her, it was already after four. In fact, Robin was quite worn out, and as she raised her arms above her head to stretch at her desk, Strike said, “Tea? I think we’ll need it to keep going.” 

Robin heard him puttering in the kitchenette. Pat had declined tea so close to the end of the work day, and she heard Cormoran say, “Why don’t you head off. Not much is going to happen in the next half hour. Start your weekend early?” Pat was out the door in less than a minute, and Robin heard Cormoran lock the door behind her. A moment later he came into the office, carrying their tea.

“You know you’ve just invited trouble, don’t you?” Robin asked.

“What? Why?”

“By assuming that nothing worthwhile will happen late on a Friday afternoon, you’ve pretty much guaranteed that some nutter will show up, demanding we investigate a murder. Or maybe a body part will arrive disguised as roses….”

Strike picked up, “Maybe Spiderman will come climbing through the window?”

“Maybe a representative from the Ministry of Magic will come calling for help?”

“Or Barclay will decide he has something very important that he absolutely has to tell us in person.” 

Robin laughed heartily at this, and then took a sip of her tea. 

Strike checked his watch. “It’s only going to take us about half an hour to get to dinner, which means we have more than two hours to kill.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the dress hanging on the coat rack beside Robin. “I assume that’s your outfit for tonight?”

Robin nodded, feeling her heart skip a beat. “Wasn’t sure what the day would bring and figured I’d better just plan to change here in the office.” 

“Or,” said Strike. “You could change upstairs?”

Letting out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Robin said, nonchalant. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” 

“Are you finished working?” Strike asked.

Robin looked at her computer screen. She was feeling very proud of her productivity, all things considered. She had printed out a training checklist for Michelle, as well as a rough, but comprehensive draft of the employee manual, and had, in fact, for the last fifteen minutes, been blankly scrolling through images on Tumblr, allowing her mind to revisit the kisses of the previous evening. “Yeah,” she said, closing the lid on her laptop. “What are you doing?”

“I’m done as well.” He stood up and held out a hand to her. “Why don’t we head up?”

Robin let Strike pull her from her chair, and he gave a little tug, so that she was in his arms in a moment. He bent his head so that their foreheads were touching. Robin couldn’t take her eyes off of his lips, which were curled into a hint of a smile. She craned her neck so that they met in the lightest of kisses. Robin heard herself moan as Strike gently caught her lower lip between his teeth. Desire coursed through her body, and she wondered if she would be able to make it all the way upstairs. All of the tension that they both had been holding in throughout the day was slowly releasing. 

Pulling away, Robin bent over to retrieve her bag from the floor. She heard Strike make a strange sound, and she turned her head quickly to look at him, and saw that he was watching her with a look of undisguised passion in his eyes. Slowly, she straightened again and lifted her dress off of the coat rack. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded throatier than usual. “I’m ready,” she said, and left the office, Strike following behind her.


	3. Upstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin continue their conversation upstairs in his flat.

The walk up the flight of stairs from the office to Strike’s flat felt immeasurably long, even though in reality, it took less than a minute. He fumbled with the key on the landing, and when he finally opened the door and motioned to Robin to go in ahead of him, she stood in the center of the room for a moment, disoriented, and unsure of where to place her things or what to do next. Strike took the dress out of her hand, and hung it on the door of the little bathroom. She dropped her bag on the floor, and looked around for a moment. She had not been inside Strike’s flat very often, but once again, was struck by the neatness of the small space.

Strike shut the door and flipped the bolt. Robin turned to face him, and noticed that there was once again a look of uncertainty on his face. He was watching her intently, but seemed frozen to the spot. Robin approached. 

“You aren’t - ?” She couldn’t finish what she had wanted to ask. Doubt had suddenly rushed through her and she felt self-conscious. She averted her eyes.

Strike drew a shuddering breath and reached out with one hand to caress her cheek, encouraging her to look back at him. “Second thoughts?” he asked. “Fuck no. It’s not that, Robin.” Bending down, he captured her lips in a kiss. 

“What is it, then?” she asked, returning the kiss, and lingering on his lower lip, before pulling away.

“It’s having my dreams come true,” he said. He laughed lightly. “I keep thinking, is this real?”

All of Robin’s self-doubt fell to the side and her heart did a little flip. How could this man, this confident, large, brick of a man, be so vulnerable? As he looked at her, it was as though all the lines had disappeared from his face - all of the sharp edges had been replaced by a soft hopefulness that Robin realized, with a hitch in her breath, that she had seen only once before. In the church, at Masham, on the day of her wedding. 

Robin put her arms around his neck, trying to show him, with a kiss, with all her being, how she felt. Strike responded eagerly, his arms wrapped around her so tightly that he almost lifted her off the floor. They stumbled back, Strike banging against the door, but it didn’t break their kiss. No matter how much she pressed herself against him, reveling in the warmth that was radiating from his chest, it didn’t feel close enough. Robin could feel his arousal as she leaned into him, and wanted nothing more than to get closer. She slipped her hands underneath his pullover, to feel the smooth cotton of the T-shirt underneath, and heard herself growl in frustration. 

Strike didn’t seem to mind that she was sounding more like a lion than a robin. They pulled apart, both breathing heavily, and Strike grasped his pullover at the hem and hastily pulled it over his head. Then, leaning forward, planting small kisses along Robin’s earlobe and jaw, he slowly began unbuttoning her blouse.

Blouse hanging open, Robin freed one arm, and then the other, letting the blouse drop to her feet, all the while tugging at Strike’s T-shirt; the cool fabric was an unnecessary barrier between feeling his skin on hers. In one swift movement, the T-shirt was removed, flung across the room, and Robin bent her head to breathe in the warm, comforting scent that was emanating from him. 

Strike’s torso was covered in thick hair, and Robin enjoyed the feel of it against her chest. It was surprisingly soft, and yet, as she ran her hands up and down, and pressed herself to him, the friction felt electric. Strike was tasting her - planting kisses along her neck and shoulder, and gently began to move the strap of her bra to the side. She gasped, with anticipation, but Strike pulled back to look at her. 

“Okay?” he asked softly.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she said. And then. “But maybe we could...?” She nodded toward the bedroom.

Strike trailed his finger from her shoulder, along her arm and down to her hand, sending shivers throughout her entire body. Without breaking eye contact, led her into his small bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... this is as smutty as I can get. I tried, I really did! But you all have good imaginations! And there's still one more chapter to go. :)


	4. The Birthday Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike attend Robin's birthday dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole reason I wrote this entire story was for this last scene, which was in my head for a long while. I don't know why, it just was!

“Ready?” Strike asked Robin, as they prepared to enter the restaurant. They had reluctantly tumbled out of bed and cleaned themselves up, both trying to look respectable and wondering if the events of the past few hours were completely visible on their faces. They had decided to act as they felt. There would be no announcements, no grand declarations in front of friends, no tinkling of the wine glass to announce that they had just shagged in Strike’s flat and were now attempting to embark upon a romantic relationship. But they would not hide their feelings.

“Yeah,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m not nervous, just sort of dreading the inevitable interrogation from Ilsa. Once I get that over with, it’s easy going.”

Ilsa had reserved an enclosed space near the back of the restaurant. There was a long table and everyone else had already arrived, much to Robin’s surprise. She and Strike entered and were greeted with cries of “It’s the birthday girl” and “Let’s get this party started!” After greeting everyone, Robin and Strike took seats next to each other at the center of the long table. Robin was seated next to Vanessa on her right, and Strike was next to Nick. The restaurant was loud, and everyone was festive and talking, and Robin felt a thrill as she looked around the table and saw the community of which she was now a central part. Friends, coworkers, flatmate, lover - all the people who now meant everything to her in London were seated around the table. 

Robin remembered the housewarming party that Matthew had held two years earlier. The only friends she had invited had been Strike and Vanessa. She had been so lonely, in her own home, so unhappy and disconnected. Now she felt linked to every single person in the room. She stood, and went around the table so that she could talk with Barclay and Hutchins and their wives, who she had only met briefly. Barclay’s wife was particularly fun, and extremely delighted to have a night out, and they had a nice chat while sharing the appetizers that were circulating around the table.

When their server arrived to take everyone’s order for dinner, Robin returned to her seat, and quickly skimmed the menu. Strike leaned in close. “What are you getting?” she asked him, looking at the options. They were few, but all looked delicious, and she realized she was very, very hungry. “Steak Frites,” he answered with a grin. Robin snorted. “You just want the chips,” she said. But that sounded good to her as well, so she ordered the same, promising Strike any frites that she was unable to finish.

She noticed that Strike had his arm around her chair, though he was turned away from her and talking to Nick. Vanessa was filling in Robin on the details of her upcoming wedding. She had several sisters and close cousins, all of whom were making up the bridal party, and her plan to be a laid-back bride who would let the maids-of-honor choose their own dresses had backfired horribly.

“I told them, find a dress. It has to be knee-length, and either fuschia, yellow, or emerald green. I don’t care about anything else. And I’ve been bombarded with links and images and fashion shows. My sister bought ten dresses online and I had to watch her model each one. I should have just picked one overpriced, horrible one and I’d have been done weeks ago.” 

Robin laughed. She realized that she really could not remember the process of choosing bridesmaid dresses for her wedding to Matthew. Her mind had chosen not to retain that information. She sighed contentedly and sat back in the chair, leaning against Strike’s arm. He squeezed her shoulder, still talking to Nick.

Having already finished one glass of wine, Robin decided to visit the ladies’ before the food arrived. She excused herself and headed towards the toilet. There was a posh sitting area in the front part of the ladies’ room, with a sofa, and small bottles of lotion and tissues. She proceeded to the toilet, and settled in, when she heard the inner door open and shut again. She saw two pairs of feet enter the room, and hover outside her stall.

“Fuck it,” she heard Ilsa say. “I’ve got to pee. Don’t let her leave!”

Sighing, Robin finished and left the stall, washed her hands, and exited to the sitting area, to find Vanessa sitting on the sofa. 

“Um?” said Robin. She knew she was about to be interrogated, and was surprised to find she felt a bit nervous.

Vanessa patted the sofa next to her. “Ilsa has some questions for you. You might as well relax.” 

Robin flopped onto the sofa, and put her head on Vanessa’s shoulder. “About what?” she asked innocently.

Ilsa entered the room. She stood in front of Robin, hands on her hips. “Spill,” she said.

“It’s my birthday,” said Robin. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting presents?”

Ilsa started pacing, as though she were in a courtroom. “You show up with Cormoran, holding hands…”

“My hand was cold.” 

Ilsa rolled her eyes. “And then, he has his arm around your chair…”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Robin, innocently.

“Nevermind the fact that Oggy is smiling wider than he did when he won the third form spelling contest.”

“Smart man,” said Vanessa.

“Is it a crime to smile?” asked Robin, smiling herself.

Ilsa leaned forward, “And  _ you  _ are smiling. I’m not letting you out of here until you talk.”

Robin turned to Vanessa. “Is this kidnapping?”

Vanessa snorted. Then said, “I heard him tell you he wanted to eat your frites.”

Robin held up her hands in protest. “All right!” she said. “If you must know, Cormoran and I had a date last night.”

“Define  _ date _ ,” Ilsa demanded.

“Perfume shopping, champagne at the Ritz, dinner?”

“Perfume shopping?” asked Vanessa incredulously. 

“I told him you wanted perfume  _ last  _ year,” said Ilsa.

“Well, he’s a little slow,” said Robin. “He also didn’t actually tell me it was a date. I figured that out on my own on the way home.”

“On the way to whose home?” Ilsa asked. Her voice had lost some of its edge, and she now seemed to be enjoying the story.

“He did walk me home,” said Robin primly. “And he did kiss me goodnight.”

The noise that Ilsa made was almost indecent. “And?” asked Vanessa.

“And he went home.”

“What does that meeaannn?” asked Ilsa, pleading.

“Well,” said Robin. “We went to work this morning, spent all day in the office doing paperwork, and then went up to his flat after work and spent the two hours before coming here enjoying each other’s company.” She paused, crossing her arms. “And that’s all I’m saying. Use your imagination.”

Ilsa jumped up and down. Vanessa put her arm around Robin’s shoulder and squeezed. Robin beamed, and fanned herself with her hand. “I was dreading this part,” she said. “But it was fun, actually. I haven’t had anything positive to contribute to our man-conversations for the last two years.”

“Well,” said Ilsa, “I’ll be honest. There’s a limit to how much I can bear to listen to about Oggy’s sexual prowess.” She shuddered a bit. “But as your friend I’ll happily listen to anything you wish to share.”

Laughing, Robin and Vanessa stood. As they were about to exit back into the dining area, Robin turned to Ilsa and said, “You’ve seen how Cormoran devours biscuits?”

Ilsa nodded. “With gusto.”

Robin winked. “Right.”

Ilsa gasped, and, laughing, the three of them returned to the table, to enjoy the rest of Robin’s birthday dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are big fans of Cormoran Strike's eating habits, I highly recommend listening to Jonathan Richman's [I Eat with Gusto, Damn, You Bet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ym4DykqC-Gs), which is what I always think of when I see TV Strike shoving food into his mouth. Also, I think Strike would enjoy it.


End file.
